The retelling of these stories was an act of prayer, not meant to shame but to instill a fear that would protect me and prevent me from ever becoming one of them. This is how I was raised—how not to be. How Not to Be meant growing up with the promise of a life better than my parents had known. A life in which I would quietly, and often unknowingly, cash in on privileges paid for by the ones who came before me. My sisters and I were supposed to be the 2.0, the reason it was all worth it. Every school photo and each certificate placed on the mantelpiece was a step toward fulfilling this promise,
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